Finding my place

Sue and I hosted a housewarming and joint 100th birthday party last night.  Our friends from Co-op joined us for food, drink and music.  The party started slowly, but gradually picked up as more people showed up at the door bearing sweets and savories, as well as musical instruments.  I'd already set up two guitars in the living room.  Allan arrived with his flute and tin whistles.  Michael hauled his upright base in the door.  Patricia, Carmel and Jen arrived with their guitars and voices.  We formed a song circle and spent a couple of hours jamming and singing old favourites.  My voice, by the end of the night, felt hoarse and bluesy.

This morning, I met Thomas at Church, where he took part in an Easter canata -- reciting the story of the road to Emmaus.  The choir sang beautifully, and Thomas spoke clearly and confidently.  I cannot believe, sometimes, how much he has matured.  Afterwards, we drove across the Ottawa River to a retreat house in Gatineau, where we joined the core of the congregation in preparations for the upcoming confirmation ceremony.  Thomas, Grace, Hazel, Alissa, Elaine, Peter and the other Gross child (whose name escapes me) have attended classes with Reverend Laurie after worship for the past two months.  We will hold the confirmation ceremony in two weeks, and today provided the final opportunity for the youth and their families to talk together about what it means to us.  We shared a pot luck lunch, and then met for several hours in a large, comfortable living room -- while a cold wind rattled alternating rain and sleet against the windows.

It has taken many years for me to find my place in Ottawa.  Susan and I moved here more than twenty years ago, and only in the last few years has it become my home.  When we first arrived, I ached desperately for the ocean, for the mountains, for the prairies.  I yearned for space around me:  horizontal space, stretching to the horizon; verticle space, reaching to the sky.  For all the beauty of the trees, sometimes my heart screamed for the vison of a grey, endless ocean, a vista of wheat and canola, a slatey peak angled across a blue sky.  I bled for a landscape of absolutes.

Now, I find myself thinking less of horizons and more of the next turning of a blue creek, lined by lily pads and vibrating to the hum of life.  Dragonflies dancing along the shore.  A damselfly perching on the brim of my hat.  I think of an alvar grassland, shining like a jewel as a I break from the dark forest.  Big bluestem bending in a breeze.  A kestrel hovering against the sky.  Perhaps I'm just older.  Perhaps I've just learned to look closer at what's around me.  Not just at the places, but at the people.